


High Living

by tatami_ideologue



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: During Canon, Firsts, M/M, Missing Scene Fic, Rating will change, Wining and Dining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatami_ideologue/pseuds/tatami_ideologue
Summary: Edamura never had been good at quitting while he was ahead.
Relationships: Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 5
Kudos: 108





	High Living

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set during the Los Angeles Connection story arc of the show, so spoilers for the first five episodes abound.

From this height, Edamura didn't know how he could make out the man's face so clearly.

He was so far up that the ground below was all indistinct and blobby like a little kid's drawings, and the wind whistling past him was making his eyes water. But somehow, even upside-down and at a distance of he didn't even want to think about how many meters from the ground, that irritating grin reached his eyes clear as day.  
Some weird trick of the light, maybe. The sun baking the rolling landscape of the Hollywood Hills was nearly blinding, and his captors looked like matchsticks on the distant ground. But there it was. The face of Laurent Thierry, the man responsible for getting him here, stood out in sharp relief.

"How are you feeling?", he heard his captor's voice call up to him. "Any more cooperative?"

"Let me go, damn you!" Edamura screamed.

"Not just yet," said the blond man. Whether he meant that as a reply or an answer to his own question, Edamura didn't know.

d

He struggled, trying to pull himself up to reach the rope binding his ankles, but abandoned that when an accidental eyeful of the dizzying height of the Hollywood sign reminded him of his position. He dropped his arms and froze until the tremors passed, gulping arid air, then filled his lungs for another scream.

"What's wrong with you? Don't you think this's a little much?"

"What do you mean?" Laurent singsonged, trying to cut the bemusement on his face with feigned innocence as he watched Edamura spin and squirm.

"I mean tyin' me up!"

"That's what traitors get," snapped the small woman. From up here, Edamura couldn't make out the face of Laurent's female accomplice. She was just a blot of dark hair, pointedly facing away from Edamura, the yellow of her shirt, and a compact, athletic body standing on legs bent at a displeased slant below her crossed arms.

Edamura gritted his teeth in irritation at that. His chin was still raw from the kick she'd given it, and _he_ was the traitor? He saw Laurent shift the jacket and backpack of Edamura's that he must have oh so generously picked up after pursing him and shrug. "I couldn't have you running off. Los Angeles isn't like Tokyo. There are all sorts of dangerous people here."

He had some gall, saying that with a straight face. These were self-proclaimed confidence tricksters, hooked up with the mob, and drug dealers besides. As if the two who had strung him up here just to prove a point weren't the worst nutjobs he was liable to meet. Then the glowering faces of Cassano and his hulking bodyguards flashed through Edamura's mind. Sweat prickled on his brow, and more worryingly, on his ankles, under the rope. Scratch that. These two were already dealing with _far_ worse people - and now had him dealing with them, too. As mad as he was at them, he knew he ought to thank his lucky stars that they'd caught him before the don's men did. A fact which only made him madder.

"Anyway," Laurent was continuing, "it's an appropriate start for the fool's journey, no?" Laurent inclined his head toward the short girl again. If she replied, Edamura didn't hear it.

"What'd you call me, you bastard?!" Edamura struggled, making the rope start to swing again. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry!"

Oh, that was lame. Even as the words were leaving his mouth, he felt like cringing. Not only lame, but unconvincing, the kind of hack dialogue that only tough guys in the American flicks on Friday Roadshow could sell. A ripple of Laurent's laughter attested to that. He turned that sunny, seedy grin up toward Edamura again, along with the shallow blue of his eyes, a good match for the rest of him. Given the huge kick he seemed to get out of seeing Edamura lose his cool and start yelling, this guy might very well like it fine.

"It's not meant to be an insult! I'll explain later." Edamura exhaled at that. That was a good sign, at least, if Laurent expected there to be a later in which he was still alive. "We have this planned out. Wouldn't you like to hear how?"

He heard the black-haired woman - what had Cassano called her? Some A name, Annabel, or maybe Ariel - let out a snort. "Sure it won't go over his head? Or is that under it?"

"Oh, fuck off!" he yelled back. "Quit jawin' and get me down from here!"

That drew another laugh from Laurent, and a hard stare at Edamura from her. "Fine by me," she said. She trudged out of his range of vision, and then he felt a tremor on the rope that went right into his bones. "Oh no, oh no no nononono," he chanted to himself, blood going cold, a sour taste filling his mouth as he tried not to let himself get queasy. A sharp jolt followed, making his stomach flip and setting him swaying in the air like an off-kilter pendulum.

"Wait!" He forced himself to remove the hands he'd clamped around his mouth to ward off the nausea and gulp another deep breath, struggling to make his voice even as he cupped them around his mouth to yell down to them. "Can't we discuss this?"

" _Now_ he wants to talk." She scuffed the dirt, flipping a stone up off the dry ground with the toe of her sneaker and catching it one-handed from the air. "This guy's an amateur, Laurent. Totally wet behind the ears," she complained, and flung it against the scaffolding propping up the giant Y, producing a resounding clang. "I say we leave him here a while until he dries out."

"Now now, Abby. Let's take it easy, shall we?" Laurent said, stilling her as she started towards the rope's mooring again. "I'm open to discussion, Edamame."

A golden glint on his wrist sent a ray of sun slanting upward, momentarily blinding Edamura. The watch.

Oh, that bastard. The heavy links of the band holding his own watch, a match to Laurent's, were like a manacle on Edamura's wrist.

He heaved a huge sigh, which at least served to blow the necktie hanging in his face out of the way. Adrenaline and terror had been flooding his system by turns nonstop since he got here, and that plus the jetlag was making him feel too depleted to even summon any more ire at Laurent for calling him by that stupid nickname again. He'd had to escape by jumping from considerable heights before - hell, this whole escapade had started with a dive from the third storey of his cruddy apartment building - and he knew how to relax, spread out his limbs before impact to cushion his landing and avoid mortal injury to vital spots. But he didn't like his chances this time, tied up and hanging a dozen meters or more in the air wrong side up.

Falling for the blond's mask of cheerful obliviousness had been his first mistake. Having the wallet taken from under his nose had been a clear warning that Edamura had chosen wrong, marked someone who could hold his own against his tricks. It was a warning he didn't heed. He'd been too high on his own cleverness, on his sense of having the upper hand over the lanky foreign blond with his lazy, carefree tourist's manner and his loud shirt, totally convinced that the Frenchman was his for the picking. That, and a sense of wounded professional pride that he hadn't even noticed the lift when it happened. He'd been too distracted by the enthusiastic hug Laurent had pulled him into to cover it up.

This guy was too good at throwing Edamura off his game. The moment he'd gotten in the cab with him, when he'd flat-out admitted that he was a con man too, not an oblivious backpacker, was when Edamura should have gotten out, of the backseat and of the whole thing. The smart thing to do would have been to write off the scam right there and cut his losses at the few hundred thousand yen Laurent had taken. Instead, he'd thrown caution to the wind in a way that was totally unlike him, ignoring every one of the mental alarms he'd cultivated to keep him alive in his line of work. He'd doubled down, just like Laurent had said, flying with him to the U.S., following him out here and not catching on to the scheme the man was ensnaring him in until he was well and truly screwed. Now he was on unfamiliar ground without the network of collaborators, hideouts, or knowledge of the terrain he had to depend on back in Japan, illegal drugs tucked away in his bag and his pockets and hidden who knew where else on his person. All because he'd been too conceited, convinced of his own superiority, that yeah, maybe this guy was a scammer too, but he wasn't an _artist_ like Makoto Edamura, best con man in all Japan.

Edamura never had been good at quitting while he was ahead. He'd been forced to come to the conclusion already that the one at fault for getting him into this mess was himself. He was in no position to negotiate, wouldn't have been even were he not dangling in the air above the scrub-pockmarked ground of the Hollywood Hills at the moment. He'd gotten too hung up on the idea that he'd show Laurent who was the best. And now he was just hung up.

 _Come on. You can get yourself out of this. You fucked it up once, so use your words and your brain instead of your fists next time,_ an inner voice told him. _Go along with it. Make them think you're following their playbook. And then, you con them back._

His pulse was still hammering and sweat was rolling down his spine and soaking into his shirt, but he forced his mind to cool. He needed to get down from here, fast, before they ran out of patience and left him to shrivel like one of the scrubby plants down there, or to hang until the knots gave out and he fell. Then his first trip overseas would end the day it started, with him a desiccated husk to be found by a hiker or a film crew or whatever sort of lunatic would come out here voluntarily. Hollywood hadn't really been on his must-see list before, but he was sure as hell crossing it off permanently after this.

It might be best to make peace for now. They outnumbered him, and they had the home field advantage. The prudent thing would be to get his bearings, pretend to be on their side until he figure out the way they operated, and then con them if he could, or split if he couldn't. He'd still rather take his chances against the two of them than the mafia.

And besides. There was something else going on here.

When his eyes wandered back to Laurent, his gaze was already locked on Edamura's, blue eyes looking into his like they could see through him completely. But his face wore an unmistakable smile. The shape of the hills carried the measured, even tones of his voice clearly to Edamura's ears without his having to shout. "You're an important part of my plan."

His eyes were a pale blue, but piercing, too, with a Mephistophelian twinkle to them. Nose ever so slightly crooked, introducing imperfection into a face that might have otherwise been too generically good-looking. Jawline fringed with a slight growth of hair that made him come off endearingly slovenly, rather than calculated and ruthless the way he was revealing himself to be. Yet there was that smile, saucy and infuriating. It made his demure gentleman act come off as just a hair too knowing, not fitting him quite right, the same way his ever-so-slightly rumpled suits did on his lean frame. Askew enough to deepen the overall effect. But gentle, too. Conspiratorial, like he was waiting for Edamura to come around and realize they were on the same side.

It might have been the blood rushing to his head and it might have been pure terror, but something had Edamura's heart racing like it never had before, not on the biggest job he'd ever pulled.

"All right. Let me hear this so-called plan," he shouted to Laurent.

"Really?" The source of his anguish sounded overjoyed as he looked at him with a grin of undisguised pleasure, like Edamura had just made his day, maybe his year.

Edamura gave a wrong-way-up shrug. "Really. Not like I really have a choice, but yeah."

He was in on this now whether he liked it or not. He didn't have to go kicking and screaming. The smart move would be to save his energy, look out for an opportunity to turn things around. And maybe... maybe see where it took him instead. As hard as he'd been trying to cash out of this scheme, when Laurent looked at him like that, it was so tempting to say to hell with it - maybe he'd let it ride for a while.

For the second time, Edamura took a breath and doubled down. "I won't go anywhere."

He yelled his assent, and Laurent signaled to the girl to let him down. Unfortunately for him, Laurent hadn't specified how.

Edamura would later suppose it was through sheer force of will that he hadn't died when the girl named Abigail cut the rope suspending him, and the ground, and Laurent's lopsided smile, aggravating and infuriatingly sensual, came rushing up at him. As he hung weightlessly in space for one moment before the drop, feeling his heart plunge even before his body did, he'd had time to register one last conscious thought, and it had been this.

He'd be damned if he was going to let that irritating, beguiling smile be the last thing he ever saw.

***

Having escaped death for the time being didn't do much to improve Edamura's outlook. By the time they were seated at the beachfront restaurant Laurent and Abigail had settled on for dinner, a thoroughly bad mood had descended on him.

He'd been irritated even before they got in the car. Regaining consciousness to Abby unceremoniously dumping a bottle of water on his head, followed by the bottle itself, hadn't helped. Then she'd exiled him to the tiny afterthought that passed for the back seat of Laurent's car for the ride there. Laurent had been perfectly content to let her do it, too, compounding his ire. Even kei-cars didn't have back seats that cramped. Finding a comfortable position was impossible. It was nearly enough to make him miss the relative comfort of the drive from the airport to Cassano's place sitting next to Laurent.

Not that that was where he wanted to be. Laurent should have counted himself lucky that Edamura couldn't throttle him from back here. He knew it was in his best interests to swallow his pride and make nice with them for now, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. He vented his irritation a little by pointedly ignoring them both as they idly chatted about where to eat, responding with noncommittal grunt any time Laurent tried to get his input.

He was focused on other things at the moment. One was observation. Blowing off attempts to engage him in chit-chat left him free to listen to them talk to each other and file away anything useful they let slip for future reference. From their back-and-forth, he was coming to see that Abby's surly demeanor towards Edamura wasn't a personal thing as much a way of being for her. She was about his age going on looks, with serious athletic prowess, going on that crazy ballet of the feigned high she'd put on by the poolside, and seriously dangerous, as his aching lower jaw could attest, capable of turning on a dime from saccharine to sullen. All trace of her airhead wannabe starlet persona had vanished so completely now it was hard to believe she was the same girl who he'd met at the mansion, hanging off Cassano's arm and cooing at him in that babydoll voice. Cassano would never know what a skilled actress she really was. Edamura's face was too sore for him to appreciate the irony all that much.

She didn't seem to have a particularly high opinion of her partner in crime, either, who seemed to really be French after all, if the number of times she'd hurled "frog" and similar insults at him was any indication. The blond man was older than him or Abby, though Edamura wasn't sure by how much; he'd never been much good at guessing foreigners' ages. But he had a definite sense of him as a practiced hand at the business of deception. The easy way he employed deception and flattery spoke of years spent honing his craft. Edamura was also getting an even more definite sense, from the way he slowed the car down to direct a wink or a wave at every attractive driver they passed, that this Laurent was a serious horndog.

As he listened in, Edamura tried to attend to his other order of business, attempting to dry out his wringing wet shirt a little. Taking it off and hanging it out the window to dry would have been fastest, but the back seat barely had room for him to sit up straight, let alone its own window. He was squeezing it out as best he could instead and trying to aim the water out the passenger side one, which Abby had rolled down.

"So, what about dinner? It's your first meal in the United States, after all." Laurent asked him, glancing into the back as they stopped at a red light. "Any requests?"

"'M not hungry, like I keep saying" grumbled Edamura, not meeting his gaze, though he only seemed to be half-listening for an answer. A convertible with a surfboard sticking up from the back seat had pulled up in the next lane, and Laurent had become preoccupied with trying to catch the eye of the driver, a strawberry blonde in a Day-Glo bikini top.

"Why bother asking? He probably wants Japanese crap," said Abby, elbows propped on the windowsill opposite. "Dump his ass at a Sushi-Go-Round while we go get something decent."

"Hmph! Pass. I'd hate to see what sorry excuse for Japanese food they try to serve out here." Edamura crossed his legs, a maneuver that required him to manually free one from its cramped position and fold it over the other, noticing as he did that the water had made it all the way down to his socks. He kicked the back of her seat in the process, making her wheel around to glare daggers at him.

The woman in the convertible returned Laurent's look with one of her own, honking her horn as she smiled at him over the rims of her sunglasses. He laughed and blew a kiss her way as the light changed and she sped off. "Seafood, then?" He half-turned and directed the same self-satisfied smile at Edamura before smoothly engaging the shifter and guiding the car onto the coastal highway.

"Why not? Show me the best you've got," Edamura said as he wrung out his right lapel. "Got a more sophisticated palate than you anyway." He flicked the handful of water toward the open window without looking, not noticing the wind shift and carry it back inside the car to splash Abby in the ear. She responded by shifting her seat as far back as it would go, squishing his legs up into his torso. "I wasn't talking to YOU, goddammit!" he shouted into the leather panel a centimeter from his face, thumping it with his knee this time. Sliding over to the driver's side offered barely any relief; Laurent's seat was already set way back to make room for his long legs.

Abby retaliated for the kick by dropping the reclining seat back on top of him, causing Edamura to start yelling his head off and prompting a fresh round of bickering that didn't abate until Laurent decided to stop for gas.

They pulled up to a filling station and his uneasy allies got out, Abby to pump the gas and Laurent to stretch his legs in the parking lot. Edamura groped along the side of the front seat until he found the switch that made it roll forward and free him, then sat back to nurse his cramped legs and bruised pride. He heard Laurent yawn outside, lazily extending his arms over his head and cracking his knuckles. Like this was all in a day's work for him, and dealing with guys who would kill anyone who crossed them on sight wasn't enough to disturb that smooth front of calm bordering on ennui he wore.

Edamura stretched a little himself in the tiny back seat, rolled his neck slowly on his shoulders, before snagging the nylon strap of his backpack to lift it off the floor. Zipping it open, he pulled out the clothes he'd worn on the plane. They were a little stale, but they beat wearing that shirt, damp from his own terrified sweat as well as the water and starting to cling unpleasantly in the California humidity now that he was sitting still. After unrolling his own shirt to shake out what wrinkles he could, he opened the button-down's cuffs and rolled them back before starting on the shirtfront.

He heaved a sigh when he got the third button open and saw the distinct line of a sunburn already forming there. His neck was an angry red above the collar, shifting to a more muted but still prickly shade of burned between there and the neckline of the tank top he was wearing as an undershirt. That had protected a zone of pasty skin on his upper torso above his stomach, which had gotten the worst of it and was already starting to peel.

"Want me to run into the superette and see if they have aloe vera?" a voice cut in. Edamura jumped, whacking his head on the low ceiling, and turned to see Laurent there, leaning casually on the window frame to peer in at him.

Edamura returned his solicitous smile with a sneer before starting on undoing the knot in his necktie. "Maybe a towel, too. It would be better to dry you off a little before rubbing that on." The Frenchman didn't even bother to hide his merriment as he looked Edamura over. "My, my. Abby did get you all wet, didn't she?"

"No thanks," he ground out, rolling up the sodden tie and tossing it after the socks and shoes he'd dropped to the car floor. "Don't need your handouts." Nearly everything he was wearing, it galled him to think, had been bought for him by Laurent at that downtown department store. He was done adding things to a tab that Laurent could well decide to collect on at any time.

"That reminds me. Here." He reached up to pluck Edamura's false glasses from where they'd been perched on his own head and held them out to him.

Edamura slapped the hand away. "I don't need those! They were YOUR idea."

"Doctor Makoto Edamura does. Cassano's going to be expecting to see you in them next time. In a good confidence trick, especially when you have your sights on a high roller, presentation is everything." He glanced into the side mirror and artfully mussed his own hair a little. "These things are best done with a certain amount of style. Surely the greatest scammer in Japan would agree?" He directed a wink Edamura's way.

With effort, he didn't rise to the bait. "Don't need to wear 'em right now, then, do I?" Edamura wrung his collar one last time and flicked the moisture in Laurent's direction before going back to the buttons on the shirt.

"But you look so _sharp_ in them."

There was an emphasis he put on that word that really got under Edamura's skin. He surged forward and seized Laurent's collar, the second time he'd done that in this car today. "Look, keep pissin' me off and there's not going to be any next time!" The unbuttoned dress shirt slid off his shoulder and fell around him. After getting the last button open and shrugging it off, he was down to his undershirt, and that was wet, too. Maybe enough to be see-through- no, it wasn't, he confirmed, darted a glance downward, but Laurent, whose eyes had gone in the same direction, was raking him with an appraising look. Like he was trying to see what he could make out through it, and didn't mind if Edamura caught him at it. "Why, Edamame—"

"Quit callin' me that! I know you can say my name right when you want to! You just did!" He gave Laurent's collar a twist, hoping it would wrinkle. The fine cotton and tweed of the clothes were making him feel itchy now. Their luxury had been paid for with drug money, for all he knew, draped around him like the scam that he was now at the center of while he was too unaware to think about resisting. He wanted them off him, right now. He removed the shirt with a sharp yank and made to fling it onto the pile of damp clothing, but the cuff caught under the gold band of the watch. This, like everything else, all a choice of Laurent's, and all with the kind of strings attached that he didn't want to be tangled in.

"You know what? Here! Take it back. I'm not part of your gang, and I don't plan on wearin' it a second longer." Making sure Laurent was watching as he did it, he dug his fingers underneath the links and yanked off the watch.

Or tried to. The band stayed locked securely in place. It was made of thick metal, and well-crafted, not like the cheap ones he sometimes picked up at Shibuya street markets and lost just as quickly. A perfect match to Laurent's, chosen just for him. It elegantly resisted his attempts to wrench it open, leaving Edamura fumbling to open the clasp the right way. His thrashing had gotten the sleeve bunched up around the watch, and the fabric kept falling in the way and getting pinched as he tried to undo it. With each clumsy attempt, his frustration built until he lost patience completely and started wrenched his arm back and forth, sending the shirt flapping like a plastic bag caught in a tree.

Laurent caught his wrist with one hand and stilled it, reaching in with the other to push back the brushed cotton of the cuff with long, slim fingers. In one deft twist, he undid the clasp and slipped the watch free. He held it in his palm, an offering, and let the other rest where it was on Edamura's arm. A pickpocket's fingers, the same fingers that had pinched the wallet right out of his pocket. They were cool against his wrist.

Edamura threw off Laurent's grip forcefully, mad at him for staring, mad at himself for minding in the first place. Who cared if the guy saw him change? He wasn't some schoolkid, embarrassed about undressing in the gym locker room in front of the other boys.

His heart was racing again. Which must have been because it sensed danger, Edamura rationalized, and with good reason. Just like his female accomplice, who was heading back to the car taking nonchalant sips from the enormous soft drink in her hand, like she hadn't cut that rope holding Edamura up in cold blood an hour ago without a care for the very real possibility that she could have killed or crippled him, this Laurent guy couldn't be trusted.

A few wordless moments passed before Laurent seemed to concede the battle. "Hold onto it for now. Until you've heard the details." Laurent reached for his lap, and he shrank back, but he was reaching for the front compartment of Edamura's bag, tucking the watch and the glasses into the front pocket. "If you change your mind, it's better to have it than not, no?" Edamura clicked his tongue in annoyance.

With that concession he thought the guy would leave him alone, but Laurent was still standing there watching him change. Even though he knew what a bad idea it was to turn his back on the man, Edamura pointedly faced the other way before pulling the undershirt off. He did his best to ignore Laurent's gaze and the thoughtful little sounds he kept making to himself, as though he definitely liked what he saw.

After he'd shrugged his vest back on, he lay down in the back the best he could manage, propping his legs up on the headrest of Laurent's seat. He gave it a halfhearted kick as Laurent started the engine, resolutely leaving them there until the car pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant on the coast.

The feeling that Laurent had scored a point on him kept needling him, a persistent thorn in Edamura's side. Petty irritation and wounded personal pride had him itching to even the score now, a feeling he'd tried to quell by setting up another patron on their way into the restaurant to push the bill onto later. It was a shabby trick, but it had gotten him free dinners in the nightlife areas of the city when money was tight. He was determined to stay one step ahead of Laurent, however he could.

He looked down at the table as the two of them ate, sulking and toying with the wristwatch he'd slipped back on. He'd pocketed it before they left the car without really thinking about it, giving himself some half-formed mental excuse about not wanting to leave valuables in the car in a dangerous place like the US.

After all his protestations to Laurent, in the end, he'd put it back on after all. He swiveled the wrist it was on, examining it from back and front. Even though wearing it felt like admitting defeat, it was an undeniably fine instrument, heavy and with a delicately etched dial under the brisk, even movement of the gold hands. Why not get some use out of it for now? He could pawn it for a plane ticket out of here later. He might as well flip the suit, too, if he could get it dry and looking decent again. Designer labels like that cost some change, and he doubted he'd ever wear it again. He sure didn't have anywhere to hang it in his cramped apartment back in Japan. He justified it to himself that he'd use it as a reminder of what he needed to do - stay steady, keep moving. The annoyance it provoked, reminding him of Laurent when he looked at it, could be put toward the same goal.

When Laurent caught him examining it, he was enough of a good sport that he didn't gloat, instead saying "Won't you try the lobster?"

Abby grabbed another tail from the bowl of them that commanded the center of the table. "Don't think he wants any. He looks too much like one now."

"Or my jaw's too sore to eat from you nearly breakin' it."

"Hasn't stopped you from running your mouth," she said through half a dinner roll that she'd shoved into her mouth while simultaneously cracking the shell.

"Be nice," Laurent scolded, unconvincingly, since even as he said it he reached over to prod Edamura's neck, not disguising a grin at the white thumbprint the pressure left on his burned red skin.

Edamura swatted his wrist away. He dropped his chin into his hand, staring out at the waves cresting on the beach below the patio while Laurent enumerated the plan for their con to him. Hearing that Sakura Magic was as much of a fabrication as the story Laurent had dressed it up with did little to make him feel better. It was a load off his mind to learn that the drugs were fake, but that left one very real drug lord who was already regarding him with suspicion. And the deception did a lot to stoke his aggravation with Laurent, pushed to the breaking point as he watched him enjoying his dinner across from him.

Meeting Edamura's glare with a grin, Laurent put down his fork. "So? Feeling any better?"

"Hell no. That was like the worst job interview I've ever been on," said Edamura, twisting the paper wrapped from the straw in the glass of mineral water Laurent had ordered for them.

Laurent smiled. "Even though you got the job?"

"Yeah, quit whinin'," Abby chimed in. "Even if you retire now, you already got the gold watch." She had to go there, thought Edamura, annoyed enough to flick the wadded-up wrapper toward her, returning her glare even as he saw her pick up her steak knife and point the business end toward him.

Laurent handily distracted her from her target by passing her a dish of mussels. "Is everything a little clearer, at least?"

"Not everything. What's this about a fool's journey?" Edamura needled him. Not that he cared much, but Laurent had been getting on his nerves for all of this very long day. Now he felt like picking a fight.

"Right, you asked about that earlier."

"He did? How'd you make that out? His English is so fucked up I can barely understand him," said Abby, around a mouthful of lobster tail this time, but without the venom her words had carried before. Edamura judged it safe to ignore her. She was slightly less spiky with food in front of her.

"It's a part of the mythology around an old card game in Europe. A colleague of mine picked up as part of a job we did and got pretty into it. I've heard quite a bit about it from her since."

"Oh, that tarot card crap?" interjected Abby. "Fool sounds about right for him." She snickered. "Or the hanged man."

"It's really quite interesting when you get into the finer points of it," Laurent replied.

Edamura gave him an incredulous look. "Give me a break. You believe in that stuff?"

"Whether you think it has mystical qualities or not," Laurent continued, "it's intriguing how metaphorically significant it's remained into the modern day. Each individual card holds its own meaning, but it's also part of the sequence making up a greater interconnected story. Fun to talk about, don't you think?"

"No," said Edamura flatly. "Significant my ass. You think you're so good at talking circles around people that you can insult me and try to pass it off as a compliment?"

"Don't take it the wrong way," Laurent cajoled.

"How else'm I supposed to take it? I don't know the first thing about this fool's whatever-the-hell-this-is. _Or_ want to," he added, as Laurent opened his mouth, but his dinner companion was undeterred. "The fool signifies new beginnings. A man who's obtained his freedom and is setting out on a journey." Laurent sketched invisible shapes in the air with his hands as he spoke, like he was conjuring the path in front of them. "Inexperienced, but full of promise. It's a good way to be," he said. "I hope I haven't hurt your feelings."

"Like you could," Edamura grumbled. "If that's your opinion of me, I'd say you got another think comin', partner."

He could have rolled his eyes at his own utterance. It was a stupid thing to say. What it was about being around the pair of confidence tricksters that made him default to trite dialogue like something out of the decades-old flicks his mom had been fond of watching together, he didn't know, but he held his glare and tried to sell it anyway.

But Laurent looked over the rim of his wineglass at Edamura and rolled the liquid in it, looking thoughtful. "Partner. That's a nice word."

Edamura did roll his eyes at that, but Abby was even quicker than him to react disdainfully, letting out a huff and stabbing the lobster tail on her plate with a fork like she wished it were Laurent's hand. Interesting. This might be a way for him to sew dissent among the ranks later. Maybe mutual distrust of Laurent was a foundation he and Abby could build on to create a united front against him. He ventured a look at Abby, who grinned unpleasantly back through the food she was chewing. "We can make you the hanged man again if you want." Okay, maybe not.

With the pressure off, the good smells of the food and the wine were tickling his nose. Though he didn't especially want to break bread with these people, he might as well eat. It had already become clear to him that Laurent was never going to tell him everything, yet he ventured a question anyway as he started piling food onto his own plate. "Why me? What's the real reason? If you've got all these colleagues, I don't see why you need me."

Laurent smiled indulgently. "I think we have a lot in common."

"Me and you guys?" Edamura gave his lobster tail a wrench with the silver cracker on the table and took a bite out of the sweet meat before continuing. "How do you freakin' figure?"

"Well, we're all in the same profession, and devoted to our craft. The wager you suggested tells me you agree that a little uncertainty can make things more fun. We're in competition on one front, and on the other, partners." Edamura let out a sound of disdain, and Laurent shrugged and amended "Okay, okay. Working together temporarily. Moreover," he said, indicating both Edamura and Abby in a gesture with the hand still holding his wine, "we're all on a fool's journey." He threw his arms wide in that carnival-showman way he had such a good command of. "One called life."

"Yeah, whatever. Sounds like a load of crap to me. But it's true we've got a bet to settle," Edamura said, grabbing the wine bottle and filling his glass. "I won't disappear before that."

"Excellent. I'd hate for you to go and miss the real fun. Be honest with yourself," said Laurent. He dropped his voice and leaned in to extend his glass toward Edamura, obnoxiously flirty even when he wasn't trying. "I know you feel alive right now."

Laurent's voice was low, and his gaze was heavy on Edamura. He didn't want to, but he met his eyes anyway, rankling when he saw the sauciest smile yet on Laurent's face. He ignored the proffered wineglass, pointedly leaving his own sitting on the table, but Laurent clinked his off it anyway. "To living."

Edamura wasn't going to make it easy for him. He made sure as he drained his glass that he faced the opposite direction of that smirk.

"Much as I don't hate to interrupt this moment," Abby cut in, "party's over."

She gestured behind her in the direction of the parking lot, the way Edamura was facing after turning away from Abigail and Laurent. Striding up to the restaurant were the pack of guys in gangster smart-casual from the Beverley Hills mansion.

"Uh, we'd better get out of here," Edamura said needlessly as they all stood, ignoring Laurent's smile when he heard him use the word _we_. He snatched the check out of Laurent's hand and called over the waitress to foist it off on the poor sucker a few tables down, then headed for the back way out of the restaurant ahead of Laurent and Abby.

Laurent held out a hand to stop him the instant before he reached it, just before the mafiosi came through the door up ahead. They weaved further towards the wall to avoid his lines of sight, but as soon as one of the men glanced this way, they'd be discovered. "We're fine. Act natural," Laurent said quietly. "Just go slowly and follow my lead—"

As if to tell him what she thought of that proposition, Abby ducked under his outstretched arm and bolted for the parking lot, straight past Cassano's men. She darted in front of them so fast they were left staring after her in opened-mouth shock that would have been comical coming from anyone other than a group of heavily armed gangsters who were looking for them.

"Attagirl," said Laurent with pride as he watched the dumbfounded men start after her. He caught Edamura's eye and wordlessly motioned toward the exit, making to circle around them while she'd drawn their attention away.

Too late. The biggest one, the same guy whose gun Edamura had grabbed in his escape attempt before dashing dirt in his face, hadn't followed the others when they ran off after Abby, and was now rounding the corner.

A flash of dismay crossed Laurent's features momentarily, the first time that Edamura had seen his ever-unbroken veneer of unruffled ease disturbed. He didn't have any time to enjoy it, though, as Salazar caught sight of them and started forward, elbowing staff and other diners out of the way.

Laurent's response was to turn his back on the approaching Salazar, turning Edamura to face the other way with a hand on his upper back, and walk down the deck. "We'll have to redirect a bit," he said, leaning close to the dumbfounded Edamura.

"But he saw us going this way!" Edamura hissed. There was nothing in this direction except the kitchen door and the end of the deck, hanging too far above the shore below to vault over.

Laurent glanced over Edamura as he scanned the crowd of diners and waitstaff, looking for something, quickly finding it and turning back to him. "Exactly." He placed his arm on Edamura's shoulder and walked them a few leisurely steps forward, like they were deep in lighthearted after-dinner conversation on their way out of the restaurant.

Edamura heard the heavy footfalls quicken as Salazar gained on them, but Laurent, still striding casually forward like he hadn't noticed the hulking man blocking their way out, paused to let a busboy laden down with trays pass in front of them. As a waitress coming the other way stopped to sidle by, leaving Salazar straining to see over the bottleneck, Laurent made a fluid left turn and started down a set of low wooden stairs built into the restaurant's deck, heading toward the shore. Suppressing the whistle of admiration he'd almost let out in spite of himself, Edamura ducked down and beat a quick path after him.

There was a flagstone path here, leading to a little landscaped garden with a trellis covered in flowers growing thick enough, he really hoped, to hide them from view. As quickly as they could without drawing attention, they put it between their pursuer and them and ducked underneath. Laurent backed him up against the side of the arch where the sunset was casting long shadows, so that they stood pressed together out of sight of Cassano's men.

"All according to plan, huh?" Edamura hissed at Laurent. "Is hiding out here waiting to get caught part of it?"

"To get caught? Of course not. Only for the right moment," Laurent murmured from a few millimeters away. The angle of the trellis to the restaurant and the greenery afforded barely enough cover to keep them hidden if they stood close to the near side of it, and to one another. They were close enough that the carefully groomed growth of flax-colored hair on his jaw nearly brushed Edamura's face as he spoke. "In the meantime, why not try to enjoy the atmosphere? You've had to wait off the heat in worse places, no?"

The trellis arch over their heads was thick with flowers that tossed gently in the sea breeze, carrying a faint fragrance that mingled with the scent of salt air and the melody of a piano filtering down from the restaurant. The sun setting over the coast burned orange on a backdrop of deep pink and vivid purple, painting the ocean lapping the strip of beach a few feet away in the same colors. "Oh yeah, it's real nice. 'Til you remember that we're being pinned down here by a bunch of really mad mafia guys, and they've got guns! Kinda ruins the effect a bit, yeah?"

"Don't let an insignificant thing like that spoil our evening," Laurent said, rubbing his leg way too close to his belt for his liking. "For my part, I'm delighted to have you join me in a little exercise after dinner." Even if he'd pretended not to notice the innuendo in that, the suggestive grin Laurent followed it up with made it unmissable.

He gave the tall frame in front of him a shove. "Fuck you."

"Ooh. On the first date? I didn't know Japanese men were so forward these days." Undeterred, he leaned in and insinuated himself a little more closely against Edamura.

"Why don't I just leave you to fend for yourself?" Edamura said, kneeing him in the side. "I don't have to outrun him, just you. He can't chase us both at once."

"You wouldn't."

"Wanna test that?" Edamura challenged. "Maybe he won't even recognize me without the glasses."

Laurent's eyes sparkled at that, as though it sounded like a lot of fun to him. "I believe it would take more than this to make you bow out. You said you weren't going to run," he said, settling an arm against the arch beside Edamura's head. "Or leave before we settled our bet. I have faith that you're a man of your word, and a strong one, too. One who can handle just about anything." Had the Frenchman looked him over appraisingly as he said that?

"And _you're_ a terrible guy." He glowered, darkly enough that Laurent, as though worried Edamura was going to take another swing at him, held up his hands with palms out in a gesture of conciliation. _I'm unarmed._

Edamura was beginning to get the sense that that was never true. Laurent's wits were sharper than a knife, and never out of reach.

"Perhaps. But you'll have to tell me your grievances another time. As nice as this is, if we don't get out of here sooner or later, we'll be in the hands of some really terrible guys." He nodded over his shoulder in the direction of Cassano's sullen lieutenant. Salazar hadn't seen them slip into the garden, but he was conducting a thorough search of the outdoor seating area and quickly working his way to the end of the deck, leaving no way past him. One of the mafia heavies had stayed behind on lookout and was milling around in the parking lot, between them and the car.

"So now what? Are you gonna waste the time she bought us taking in the view here until we all get nabbed?"

"Abby can hold her own." He darted a look over at the restaurant terrace to check Salazar's movements, then back to Edamura. "Right now, we wait."

"I dunno that I'd be so sure she'll do anything to help us out of this. I'm pretty sure she hates your guts almost as much as I do—hold on."

Salazar had made his way over by the kitchen entrance used by the waitstaff, his back to them. The moment Edamura saw his hand reach for the plate to push it open, he sprang out of the trellis and dashed for the staircase, his eye on the now-unguarded exit door. "Wait's over. Now!"

He only managed two steps out onto the flagstones before a hand seized his collar. Before he could scream, Laurent had pulled him back into the trellis and pressed him hard against the side, knocking loose a few petals and leaves that landed in his hair. Bending in so close that their noses brushed, he put a shushing finger to his own lips, then Edamura's. The more experienced con man might have read some shift in posture that Edamura missed, for the moment after Laurent yanked him back, Salazar turned abruptly from the kitchen and strode forward to lean out over the rail, squinting against the sinking sun at the shoreline.

"Well, that didn't go so well. Want to try it my way now?" Laurent whispered, annoying him with both his smugness and how close he was standing. Heart in his throat, Edamura didn't reply. He stayed stock-still until, through a gap in the trellis, he saw Salazar withdraw from the railing. Edamura let the breath he'd been holding escape, making the deep mauve flowers to either side of his head waver. "Not sure. I dunno that getting caught by him would be a lot worse than being strung up and left for dead on a mountain."

"Are you still angry about that?" said Laurent dismissively as he watched the bodyguard's movements, like Edamura was complaining about something that had happened years ago instead of a couple of hours.

"I hate heights," he gritted, leveling his phoniest smile at Laurent. "And I think I'm startin' to develop an aversion to French guys."

Laurent gave a little laugh at that, but he at least seemed to have gotten the hint about how pissed Edamura was at him and hid it behind his hand. "I'm glad to see you've moved on from being upset about the drugs, anyway," he demurred.

"Yeah. Now I can just be upset that I've got mafia dudes looking to settle the score with me. That Salazar guy doesn't look like the type to forgive and forget. What happens if he convinces Cassano to let him at me once the deal's done?"

"You don't need to worry about that. Salazar's not that kind of person. He may be mafia, but he isn't a petty thug. Besides," said Laurent, "I wouldn't let that happen." He tucked a section of Edamura's hair behind his ear with his long pickpocket's fingers, the ones that had brushed Edamura's lips as they popped the candy into his mouth at the mansion, and held his wrist in the car. "We're on the same side for now."

He grabbed that hand before it could stroke his cheek. "In that case, how 'bout you try a little harder not to get me freaking killed?"

Above, Salazar entered the doors leading to the kitchen. Edamura waited a beat after they swung shut behind him, but he didn't reappear. He slumped down against the arch as the tension released him, not caring that this also meant his face dropped onto Laurent's shoulder. He was not about to try that again. The weariness might have been visible on his face, because instead of giving him flak about it, Laurent rubbed a conciliatory hand against his back and brushed the lapels of his vest free of floral debris from the trellis.

"I must apologize for the way things are playing out. All of this must have come as somewhat of a rude surprise to you."

Edamura gave an incredulous snort, and his head snapped up to fix Laurent with a glare. "Please, buddy. After everything you've put me through today, nothing you could do now would surprise me."

Those blue eyes searched him, as though Laurent was evaluating the truth of that statement. Or had he taken it as a challenge? Either way, he must have approved. In a moment he'd leaned even closer, with undisguised interest lighting his eyes, and in the next he'd neatly captured Edamura's mouth in a kiss.

Whenever he found himself about to panic, Edamura's instinctive response was to freeze, something he knew was a liability in this line of work. But he was lost to respond any other way than to stand rooted to the spot, eyes wide in shock at the man now kissing him. His hands, which had flown to grab the edges of Laurent's jacket, hung there frozen by indecision and pure shock. Laurent's own eyes were shut, and at this distance he couldn't help noticing the fringe of white lashes there, or the subtle lines at their outer corners, from age or constant practice smiling. His nostrils flared as he tried to get air, which brought with it the scent of a subtle cologne, heady at this close range.

Laurent's mouth was politely closed, but his own had fallen open from surprise. Mind racing, he tried to say something, but that only had the effect of moving his lips against Laurent's. Which must have felt like encouragement to the blond con man, because Edamura felt that mouth quirk upward in delight before opening against his.

He didn't jam his tongue down Edamura's throat, the way he'd figured he might. He was remarkably well-behaved, in fact, not moving any closer until Edamura sought it first. Playing the gentleman - or else trying to get Edamura to concede, to admit that he wanted this, and at the moment he couldn’t quite come up with a convincing denial. He felt wetness beyond Laurent's soft lips, the mild heat of his breathing, and then his tongue moved in and barely touched his, changing angles with every few breaths. Those eyes opened, startlingly blue, and Laurent smiled to see Edamura looking at him, deepening the creases, before he shifted slightly and leaned in closer, pressing their mouths more fully together. A little sound came out of him as Laurent's body pressing him back against the wood. He had dimples, too, Edamura could see. Shit. He was entirely too pretty.

Some subtle taste reached his tongue as Laurent kept kissing him. Edamura tasted butter, butter and the succulent meat of the lobster they'd eaten. But as the man's tongue glanced across his once more he revised his take. There was something else, deeper and unique to Laurent. Probably. Not that he'd kissed enough men to have any authority on the subject. Or women, for that matter. His brain was failing to access memories of anyone else he'd kissed right now. All he knew at this moment was the taste of him. Sweet and rich - just like the front that Laurent put up. Unbidden, his own eyes slid shut.

His heart was thudding furiously. Not from fear that they'd be discovered, caught in the act by the pissed-off mafiosi looking for them who were liable to see them like this any moment, nor from unease at what Laurent was doing. The close proximity to him was overwhelming all his senses. Laurent's tongue circled, brushing inside his cheek, then withdrew to map his bottom lip, and Edamura let a breath escape, a sigh or an "ah" at the wetness and the gentle pressure as Laurent's body moved against him, into him.

At the answering sound he made, Laurent moved back to break the kiss, and the searching gaze those eyes turned on Edamura then, from a face radiating a look of overwhelming sensuality, made him flush hot and cold. Their vivid blue seemed to shift to a deeper shade, pupils wide in the low light. His eyelashes softly fluttered in what should have been a patently infuriating fashion, but was alluring instead. Alluring because it wasn't a calculated look - Laurent's defenses were down completely.

Transfixed, Edamura didn't look away. His hands, formerly balled up at the hem of Laurent's jacket, were resting lightly in the vicinity of his waist now. If anything, he was pulling him closer. He could have lifted Laurent's wallet easily during that kiss, gotten his money back and been on his way. Somehow, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. The thought of moving away from him hadn't, either.

The hand braced on the wooden lattice behind his head had come to lay on his shoulder. Laurent's opposite hand softly traveled the length of Edamura's arm and settled against his side. They were standing now with their feet lined up straight, each straddling one of the other's thighs, and the French con man was holding onto him gently, like something greatly valued. The light had shifted - how long had they been standing here? - and the shadows slid away from them to lengthen on the ground, and as the taller man regarded him, Edamura couldn't make himself stop noticing the way Laurent's blond hair positively glowed gold in the last light the sinking sun cast across the water.

Neither spoke. Over the sounds of distant mood music, laughter and clinking of cutlery drifting down from the restaurant, and their breathing, heavy now, the pounding of the surf mixed with his own racing heart's. Something swelled in him in response to that smile and that touch that wasn't panic, a lot more pleasant and gentle. And had he imagined the tremor in the sound Laurent made as he breathed out?

A blaring interceded that took him several fuzzy seconds to finally identify as a car horn. Blinking like a man released from a trance, Laurent shook his head as if to clear it and looked away from him to peek out from behind the trellis toward the source of the sound. Edamura followed his lead, leaning around him, and saw Abby there, leaning on the horn and glaring at them from the rolled-down window of the car she'd brought roaring up to the edge of the parking lot up the hill.

They both slumped in relief, but Laurent's eyebrows arched upward, in what Edamura took for disappointment at being interrupted until he heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded like "Oh no, she's driving," and then, accented with a shrug, "Oh well," which was even worse.

He didn't get to ask Laurent to clarify before she gunned the motor, roaring down the incline straight toward them. A strained half-yell was all Edamura had time for as it rushed by close enough for him to see his own terrified face reflected in the polished chassis before the car veered away onto the beach and braked hard, skidding in the sand.

As he stood rooted to the spot, gasping for breath, he felt a tug at his sleeve. Laurent's fingers brushed his arm, and the band of his watch caught at Edamura's as he reached out to him. Blinking in the dazzling sunset, Edamura forced his feet into motion in tandem with his mind. He hadn't gotten even with Laurent. He was still scrambling just to keep up with him. The flash of gold at his wrist dazzled his vision as Laurent took Edamura's hand in his, and with a brilliant smile back at him, turned to run toward the car Abby had pulled up in.

"Hi, Abby! Way to make an entrance," Laurent called as they vaulted the folded-down passenger seat and jumped in, just managing to pull the door shut. "Screw that! We need an exit!" yelled Edamura. "Floor it!" Declining to argue with him for the first time, Abby peeled out, burning rubber and sending them both sprawling into the back seat. He tried to brace himself against the sides, shooting daggers at Laurent, who was laughing where he'd been hurled against the opposite door. Then Abby cut a hairpin turn out of the parking lot, pitching Edamura into his lap. With no other option, he clung to the blond man as they careened out of the parking lot and onto the open coast road.

"What the hell happened to sneaking out?" shouted Edamura, finding his voice at last. He saw the face of the henchguy posted as a lookout receding in the back window, which should have been a welcome sight, only for an instant before he dropped his head and tried not to concentrate on what the violent wrenching of the car was doing to his full stomach.

"Not to worry. They don't want to catch us badly enough to attract the attention a car chase would draw." Laurent gave him a steadying pat on the back. He allowed his other hand to linger where it had landed on Edamura's thigh, in no hurry to remove it. Edamura, hanging on for dear life, couldn't brush it away. Did he want to? That was a question he'd gladly save for later, when they weren't doing 120 down the highway. "You can lose them on Wilshire," Laurent called to Abby in the front seat.

"Do it yourself." She turned hard, tamping the car's brakes again so it drifted sideways to a sharp stop at the side of the road. They were thrown to the other side of the car by the momentum, pinning Laurent underneath him this time. Edamura groaned and rubbed his head, scowling at the pain, and then at the look on Laurent's face, grinning up at him like he didn't mind this position at all. Abby's sharp eyes glared at them from the space between the seat and the headrest. "Change with me already. You know I can't drive stick."

Edamura's mouth dropped open, to emit what would have been a scream if fear hadn't paralyzed his vocal chords. For this he'd surviving a dizzying fall and evaded capture by the mob, and now he was going to die in a fiery crash at the hands of someone he was supposed to be teamed up with? "Let me out of this car!" he finally croaked. He hauled himself upright and tried to scramble off of Laurent. "I'll hitchhike!"

"In Los Angeles?" Abby laughed. "Let him. I've got to see this." Laurent slid out from under him far less elegantly than Edamura knew he could if he wanted to, and with way more physical contact than necessary. "Not a good idea. You know who'd be the first to stop for you, don't you?" He reached across him and Edamura tensed again, but there was a click, and then he withdrew.

"Buckle up." He smoothed the strap across Edamura's chest and patted it fondly before climbing across him into the front seat.

Edamura's pulse didn't stop ringing in his ears the whole drive, until he got out and numbly followed the pair of con artists into their midcity hotel and up the elevator. Inside the suite, he sat numbly on the sofa, only half-hearing the things Laurent was spouting about their target and his own ideals over yet more champagne. He tried pouring himself some coffee in hopes that might restore his will to do anything other than slump there and stare at Laurent as his lips move.

When Laurent bid them goodnight and made to leave, he caught up with him in the entranceway and reached out to stop him, not sure why. Hemming and hawing as he tried to work up what to ask, he only managed "Is this it?"

"No, not at all. We'll probably have to work on Cassano a little more to get him to take the bait, so I'll be back after breakfast. Then we've got a long day ahead of us," Laurent said. "Did you bring your swimsuit?"

"You know that ain't what I meant. Are you just gonna walk away?" he said. "After that?"

He was asking about more than the con. Laurent looked quietly at him, seeming like he was searching Edamura's face or his own mind for a response to that.

"I'll let you in on something," he finally said. "Two rules for a confidence man to live by. First: always leave them wanting more."

Silence lengthened between them, amid a sort of tension that Edamura was sure hadn't been there before a few hours ago. "What's the second one?" he finally ventured.

Laurent dropped his hand to Edamura's shoulder once more and stood regarding him for another long moment before drawing his fingers downward, undoubtedly feeling his heartbeat through his rumpled shirt. There was a tension there that might have been hesitance. His soft blue eyes seemed to have drank all the light of the traffic outside, burning clear into Edamura's even though the room was dark.

Swallowing, Edamura tried to summon any of the dozen things he wanted to say, but only managed a muted "Hey—" before faltering, already knowing the answer would not be forthcoming. The way, he was coming to learn, it always was with Laurent.

"Goodnight, Edamame." Softly, Laurent patted his chest and withdrew. "Sweet dreams."

The door closed behind him. Edamura let his arm drop, feeling stymied, and something with an oddly soft texture brushed his skin. Looking down, he saw that one of the deep-hued flowers growing over the restaurant trellis had been slipped into the buttonhole of his vest. Sleight of hand. He hadn't seen Laurent pick it, wasn't even sure when Laurent had placed it there, just now or during the car ride or before that. He'd been very effectively drawing Edamura's attention elsewhere.

Exhaustion and jet lag were pulling him in opposite directions, making him feel tenuous and insubstantial. He trudged across the room to the bed on leaden feet, not bothering to remove his clothes before he collapsed into it.

In the few hours of restless sleep Edamura managed on the hotel bed that night, he dreamed of a light-colored ocean pulling him under, his struggles helpless to disturb the calm water. He was deep under the waves, as though dropped from a great height, and the pressure should have been crushing. Yet no pain assailed him. The blue surrounding him was impossibly pale and serene, sparkling invitingly no matter how far he sank. What scared him how inviting the waves of that ocean felt as they dragged him down.

By the time he woke, he knew he needed a plan of his own. He was already knee-deep in this and needed to figure out a way to regain some ground and put himself ahead of his uneasy collaborators, because at this rate he was soon to be in over his head. Even awake, as he pulled on his shoes, that feeling of being pulled under wouldn't dissipate. He tried to focus on the keen scammer's alarm at the core of his consciousness, warning him that he was on the verge of falling into something dangerous and no longer wanting to fight it.

Gathering his few possessions and shouldering his backpack, Edamura steeled himself to get past Abby and out of the room. Even if he didn't know where he'd end up, his first step had to be to put distance between himself and Abby and Laurent. Especially Laurent. He needed to work his way back up before he gave in to that seductive urge and followed after him, going gladly to depths from which there was no return.


End file.
